The Man Who Sold The World
by prettypilipala
Summary: You're face to face With the man who sold the world' Ten years after the war, Draco Malfoy has finally tracked down the Boy Who Lived - and he wants answers.


**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns Harry Potter: Nirvana covered The Man Who Sold The World; originally a hit for David Bowie. I own naught. Sadly.

**Summary:** Inspired by Nirvana's cover of the song, this little one-shot was written. After the war, Harry Potter mysteriously disappeared from themagical world. Now ten years later, Draco Malfoy has tracked down the Boy Who Lived, determined to bring him back.

**A/N:** Thank you to my betae, Helen and Simrun, and my alpha, Paul.

Enjoy!

_

* * *

_

_We passed upon the stairs,  
We spoke of was and when  
Although I wasn't there  
He said I was his friend  
Which came as a surprise  
I spoke into his eyes -- I thought you died alone  
A long long time ago_

_Oh no, not me,  
__We never lost control,  
__You're face to face,  
__With the man who sold the world_

_I laughed and shook his hand,  
__I made my way back home,  
__I searched for form and land,  
__Years and years I roamed,  
__I gazed a gazely stare,  
__We walked a million hills -- I must have died alone,  
__A long long time ago._

_Who knows, not me,  
__I never lost control,  
__You're face to face,  
__With the man who sold the world._

- Nirvana,_ Man Who Sold the World_

* * *

The building was dark, foreboding, towering over its neighbours with an air of finality. This, it seemed to say to the tall, striking blonde staring up at it, is what you have been searching for. This is the final frontier, this is the end... this is the beginning.

'This is _it_?' murmured the young man in distaste. '_This_ is where Potter's been holed up for the past ten years?' He said the name quietly; the Muggles surrounding him wanted answers from the man he'd spent far too long hunting. As for any witches or wizards that passed by - and more than likely there were _some_, after what Potter had done - they wanted more than answers. They wanted blood.

No, he amended silently. The _Daily Prophet_ wanted blood. The people wanted a leader, and after the disappearance of the Boy Who Lived, and the death of their beloved Albus Dumbledore, the magical world was flying without a captain, shooting without a goal; or, to use a Muggle phrase that was gaining popularity, up the creek without a paddle.

And now... he could give them that paddle, that goal, that captain. _Come Hell or high water, Potter, you are coming back with me_. He gritted his teeth, straightened his robes and his hair, and marched determinedly up the stairs to the building's entrance.

There _was_ a very sturdy door, easily pushed aside by a simple _Alohamora_.

There _was_ a very frightened receptionist, for some unknown reason, who gabbled that Mister Black was a very important man and could not be disturbed- easily distracted by a wave of his wand, an icy stare, and a curt request for information.

There _was_ an elevator; broken down, and easily avoided with a glimmer of thought and a small popping noise. In the Muggle world, Apparation was underrated.

And now, he stood outside the door to Harry Potter's flat. A modest sign beside the door read 'James Black'. A long-lost smirk graced the corner of the blonde's lips as he read this.

'Nice try, Potter, but you can't hide from us forever,' he hissed under his breath, raising his fist and knocking the door. He would have tried magic, but even without checking, he could tell there were powerful wards around the room.

Footsteps sounded from within, and he could hear the rattling of a chain. His fingers tightened around his wand, and he forced himself to relax. The nondescript door opened, and a tall man, in his late twenties, stood on the other side. Clearly disguised, he had brown hair, a dark tan, and deep, but still piercing, brown eyes. Glasses covered these, and as a few seconds passed, recognition filtered through and Harry Potter tried to slam the door.

A foot was thrust out, and the door bounced off and flew open. 'Let me in, Potter.'

'I'm- I'm not Potter. I don't know any Potter.' His voice was still the same, a deep, comforting, wise voice; edged with barely controlled panic.

'Potter. I said for you to let me in. If you don't, I'll have the _Prophet_ swarm this place.'

'I said I don't know a Potter!' The door bounced off the foot again. 'Malfoy, move your foot!'

'Aaah...' Draco Malfoy's infamous smirk was back, after a twelve year disappearance. 'Still say you're not Harry Potter?'

A mutinous silence followed as Draco's cool, collected grey eyes stared into Harry's disguised eyes, and then a defeated sigh.

'Come in.'

'Thank you.' Draco nodded his head slightly, a brief apology for invading his privacy, but then entered determinedly. He was going to bring Harry bloody Potter back to finish what he started, and no stubborn Gryffindor was going to stop him.

The door shut with an annoyed thump, and as Harry locked it and fiddled with the Muggle security measures he'd put in place, Draco looked around the flat.

The main room was large, and would be airy and light if it wasn't filled with the same misery that surrounded the entire city. Perhaps, he thought ironically, it was all centred on this one flat. Certainly once Potter was removed and made to face the world, it would start disappearing.

The walls were white, with a few paintings and pictures hanging. Not magical portraits, of course; it would make it far too easy to trace him, but a picture of some sunflowers - cheesy Muggle painters, unable to paint anything even semi-decent - and some pictures that waved merrily at him as he walked over to them. Pictures from Hogwarts, before the Great Depression as the current time had been dubbed. A smiling group of all Gryffindors; the Golden Trio; the Gryffindor Quidditch team; and a picture of his parents. The photographs were hung on the wall; the tables being cluttered with books, magical items - many of which Draco recognised from his time working with the Order - an Invisibility Cloak thrown over the back of an armchair in the centre, a Firebolt in the corner of the room, and of course, Hedwig, clucking her beak in another corner.

'Nice room,' he remarked dryly, taking in the threadbare sofa opposite the armchair and make-shift kitchen and dining room in the corner. 'But I'm not sure it constitutes a house.'

'Shut up, Malfoy.' Harry threw himself down into the armchair, folding his Cloak and setting it neatly to one side. 'You obviously didn't come here to criticise my living habits.'

'No, but as I'm here, I may as well take the opportunity to. Who knows when the Great Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World will surface again?' Draco nodded in satisfaction as anger rose in Harry's eyes; quickly suppressed, but visible.

'If you're going to insult me, you can leave,' glowered Harry, his hands clenched into fists. Draco tossed his head arrogantly, finding all of his Pureblood conceit returning easily.

'I came here to talk to Harry Potter, not a coward hiding in disguise. Get rid of that bloody hair, Potter, and go back to normal. You look like a prat.' Draco injected his tones with confidence and superiority, creating a tone that even Harry found himself obeying. As he found his wand and began removing the spells, Draco looked around once more.

There were two doors opposite the front door, obviously bathroom and bedroom; and large French doors opening onto a balcony. Judging from the rust coating the lock, they had never been opened. A television cabinet was to the left of the windows, with the latest Muggle technology and films littering the shelf below the small portable television. A CD player next to the Firebolt was merrily playing some Muggle crap. Draco shuddered slightly and pointed his wand, whispering a '_Silencio_'.

'Honestly, Potter, you could have found somewhere semi-decent to hide out,' he remarked, meeting Harry's eyes again, and widening his own slightly. _I'd forgotten how disconcerting his stare is._ The vivid green eyes were filled with anger, the heated gaze scorching itself into Draco's retinas.

Harry's looks were the same as they always were, he thought, merely with a hint of maturity. He still had the boyish face, the messy jet-black hair, the lean yet muscular body of a Quidditch player - clearly he kept in practice somehow. Only the eyes had changed, developed. Now they emanated an aura of wisdom, calm, peace; and, at the moment, hatred. And, of course... the scar, the famous lightning bolt had returned to grace Harry's forehead.

'That's better, Potter,' Draco said approvingly. 'Now you look like a _famous_ prat.'

'Shut up, Malfoy,' glared Harry, his arms crossed angrily. 'Now, will you tell me why you've decided to turn up and make my life a misery again, or shall I hex it out of you?'

'I've got a third option, Potter. I'll leave, and you can continue to ruin the world.'

It was possibly the most daring thing he could have said. Harry winced, as if dealt a physical blow; and his hurt and confusion was almost palpable, even before he raised his head to meet Draco's aristocratic, indifferent expression.

'... what?' he managed finally, floundering for words. 'How am... how am _I_ ruining the world? Dumbledore's in charge, everything's working out!'

'Oh wake up and smell the Mandrakes, Potter. Have you paid _any_ attention to the outside world? Dumbledore died seven years ago.' Pain wracked both of the men, as the words hit them. Draco had been there at the funeral, had been there at the end of Dumbledore's life, had agreed to the old man's request to find Harry and bring him back.

'He... he's dead?' managed Harry finally. Draco nodded sombrely, clearing a space with a sweep of his arm and sitting down on the now empty coffee table.

'Old age. Nobody thought it would happen. He seemed almost immortal. But... three years after the war ended, after you disappeared... he started taking to his bed more. Resigned as Headmaster. McGonagall and Lupin are running Hogwarts. He went in his sleep.' Draco uttered this quietly, supplying random information that wasn't too painful a memory. 'He asked for you.'

'What... what did he say?' asked Harry. Draco closed his eyes, leaning forward, his arrogance dropped.

'He was... rambling, towards the end. He asked for you, though. Asked for us all. Asked for Snape, and Merlin knows the poor man's been dead even longer than Dumbledore. I was there when he asked for you. He... He thought you hated him. He asked if what he had done was so wrong. He... he wanted you to forgive him... for. for being.' Draco blinked back tears as he remembered the words. 'For being an old fool. He said he was sorry. And... he said he was proud of you, for winning, for saving them all, for... for succeeding where he failed... for being you... His last wish was for me to find you. He wanted to see you one last time.'

Harry had buried his head in his hands, and Draco could see his shoulders shaking. Whether with tears; anger; guilt; or the effort of holding back the tears, he didn't know. He decided to give Harry some privacy for a moment, and wandered over to the French doors, his back to Harry. Outside was a spacious balcony, and, had it been used regularly, it would have been warm and inviting. Below it, around it, Draco could see the two worlds colliding, with fights in the street, the spark of hexes and glitter of knives visible even from this height.

'Do you still fly?' he asked, taking pity on Harry. A muffled reply came, and then a loud sniff, and Harry cleared his throat and tried again. 'Yes,' he said, his voice wavering. 'Every night, when I can.'

'Still a good Seeker?' Draco turned to meet Harry's red eyes and trembling face. 'He meant it, you know. He was proud of you. He thought you hated him. All he wanted was your forgiveness before he died.'

'I heard you the first time,' muttered Harry, wiping his sleeve over his eyes. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, jeans and a long-sleeved white t-shirt. 'Is that what you came to tell me?'

'No, Potter. I haven't even started yet.'

'Would you like a cup of tea?'

'Coffee, black.' Draco watched as Harry dejectedly shuffled to the kettle, and scoffed. 'What, afraid to use your wand? Forgotten the right spell? Or are you ashamed to be associated with the world you sold for your own stupid pride and tenacity?'

'What?' Ah, and the anger is back, nodded Draco quietly as Harry spun around. 'How dare you? I did not sell out! I left for the best!'

'So how come the past ten years have been dubbed 'The Great Depression', how come the Wizarding world in Britain is struggling without a leader, without motivation, without _you_?' There was silence.

'... I didn't know.'

'No, Potter, you're too old to make that excuse. How old _are_ you? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? You're old enough to know better. It's not that you didn't _know_, is it? It's simply that you didn't _think_. You destroyed Voldemort and didn't even hang around for the tea and Orders of Merlin afterwards. You didn't _think_, you didn't think ahead to see whether you would be needed, you ran away because you're a coward, a lowly Gryffindor, even worse than Longbottom who at least had the decency to stay-'

'_Shut up!_' Harry took a few steps forward, fists twitching.

'-and help with the injured afterwards. He earned an Order, Second Class. As for Granger and Weasley, just as Gryffindorish as you, both Orders, First Class. Granger's teaching Potions at Hogwarts and inventing new ones daily, Weasley's leading the Aurors and trying to do what _you_ should be doing. But you, the one _everyone_ was depending on-'

'I'm warning you, Malfoy!' Another step closer.

'-you ran away, changed your name, hid from the entire world who wants to shake your hand and thank you for freeing them, who wants you to lead them and help them get back on your feet. You ran away from your friends and your fans and even your family, the Weasleys were devastated enough after losing three kids, Molly Weasley lost her husband, then she loses you on top of it all-'

'_Malfoy!_'

'-did you want that, Potter? Did you want to hurt them all? Because here's a news flash for you: whether you wanted to or not, _you did_, you left the world in a state of ruin and _you are the only one who can undo it_. Did you know that? Did you want to destroy the world? Face it, Potter. You sold out to your own insecurities.'

'_NO!_' Harry leapt forward with a growl, knocking Draco to the floor. 'Shut up! You don't know! You don't know anything, Malfoy, you never have and never will!' He aimed a punch, which Draco dodged, rolling to the side and pushing Harry down.

'I know a lot more than you, Potter, I know that the world is dying and I know that it's your fault!' Draco accompanied this with a well-placed foot, feeling his own anger rising. Harry knelt in agony, before raising his head and launching upwards, his fist catching the corner of Draco's face and knocking the blonde off-balance. As the platinum head fell, a hand rose, grabbing Harry's robes and dragging him down. Both fought for control, punching, kicking, and even biting. One minute Harry had Draco pinned down, punching his face, kicking him; the next Draco was retaliating, pushing Harry backwards, shaking him until he was pushed off.

'Enough,' panted Draco, stretched across the floor, his feet hidden beneath the table. Harry stood, his eyes glittering.

'Maybe now you'll listen to _me_, Malfoy.' Already his eye was swelling, and Draco could feel a similar bruise blossoming around his own eye. He raised his wand. '_Sana_,' he muttered, first at himself, then at Harry, and felt the pain relieved instantly as the spell worked its magic. Within seconds, the bruising had disappeared entirely.

'Tell me your side, then, Potter. If it's worth hearing.' Draco got up, cleared another space - this time on the sofa, and sat opposite Harry's chair. 'I'll listen.'

'Good.' Harry reclaimed his armchair, retrieving his wand from a table on the way. With a brief, experimental wave, he muttered a sullen spell, and two cups materialised on the table. Draco took one and sipped it.

'Ah, finally, a decent cup of coffee,' he sighed. 'Now, Potter, wasn't that easier than all the Muggle fuss?'

'I thought you were going to _listen_, Malfoy. That means the mouth remains shut and the ears do the work.'

'Ooh, sarcasm. Progress.' Harry shot him a glare. 'Alright, alright, Potter. I'll listen. But, I do reserve the right to snicker, scoff, smirk, roll my eyes, laugh, interrupt, and generally belittle you.'

'Only rolling your eyes and smirking.'

'A snicker or two?'

'Maximum two.'

'Done.' Draco smirked at the annoyed look on Harry's face. 'Okay. You can start now.'

'Are you sure you wouldn't like to make any more comments before I do?' asked Harry sourly. Draco rolled his eyes.

'You weren't there, for the final confrontation, where you?' Draco blinked at Harry's question, and shook his head.

'No, I was duelling Bellatrix Lestrange when you went to find Voldemort.'

'I was the only one to walk out of that room alive.' Harry shuddered. 'Charlie Weasley. Ginny Weasley. Susan Bones. Luna Lovegood. Blaise Zabini. Justin Finch-Fletchley. My group, the ones I'd fought with throughout the war... And, of course, Voldemort's group. Crabbe and Goyle Snr., Pansy Parkinson, Nott elder and younger, the rest...' He sighed. 'They fought, and my group took out the Death Eaters easily. I was already duelling Voldemort, but I tried to watch their backs as best I could.' Harry paused and sipped his coffee. He met Draco's eye firmly. 'I protected them, as much as I could. But...' he trailed off, and stared into the distance for a while. 'Voldemort got to them,' he said finally. 'He started hexing me, and when I was dodging, he'd- he'd hex one of them, and torture them while I was getting up, and hexing him back. I- I shouted at them to get out, but they wouldn't, they refused to go. I tried to save them.' Harry's eyes were shining with tears, and Draco felt a twinge of remorse. 'I really did try, Malfoy.'

'I know.' Draco wondered who'd said that, for a moment, before realising it was himself. 'We all know, Potter.'

'I... I couldn't stay, after so many people had died.' Harry curled up, sipping his coffee slowly. 'So many people had died to give me the chance to win... I felt their blood on my hands...' He stared at his hands, turning the palms up. 'First... My parents were the first. Then, Cedric, Sirius, Snape... so many people.'

'Snape didn't just die for you, Potter. He died for us all. He gave the Order so many spies within Voldemort's legions, it made it easy for us to win, for us to save lives. He knew the risks, but he converted so many people. Just look at how many Death Eater spies and ex-Death Eaters were fighting in that final battle.'

'Just look how many died.' Harry closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the chair. 'I was surrounded by bodies... I got so _angry_, I... I cast the Killing Curse, I destroyed Voldemort... Twenty in a room to start with, seven of us and thirteen of them, and only I walked out alive. I had to step over their bodies to get out. I had to see their eyes, still open, as if watching me. I killed them.' He paused, and Draco shivered slightly, remembering the scenes of devastation, the glassy eyes of the fighters staring to the heavens, almost in supplication. _Please help us_, they had cried, until they had been covered over and their eyes closed. True, many had died for Harry... but the man sitting opposite seemed to be missing the point.

'I felt... like I'd betrayed everyone. The Weasleys more or less adopted me, and thanks to me, four of them died. Hermione, when she went to St. Mungo's, was told she'd never walk again because of the damage the curse had done. Seamus lost his eyesight. Cho lost her arm. And that's just the people left alive- the list of ones that died because of me... I'm not sure how long it is, but I'd bet five galleons it's long.'

'Potter, when will you realise that they didn't die for you?' Draco rolled his eyes. 'They died for all of us. For the world to have a chance, Potter, not for you to lock yourself up and let the world die. They died to help destroy Voldemort and give the world a chance. Muggles, too. Speaking of which, Potter, and I mention this entirely casually with no accusations or blame attached whatsoever, why in the seven hells did you reveal our world to the Muggles?'

'To stop future wars,' said Harry simply. 'Voldemort thought he was superior to Muggles and Muggleborns, even half-bloods. Had he seen the extent of the Muggle technology, he would have had trouble upholding this belief.'

'Technology isn't a patch on Magic, Potter.'

'Only a prejudiced Pureblood would say that,' countered Harry evenly, and Draco flinched under the emerald gaze. 'Muggles and wizards _can_ live together. They just needed a push in the right direction.'

'So you pushed them off the edge?'

'So to speak.' Harry put his empty cup down on the table and stood, pacing before Draco. 'Look, Malfoy, I know you don't like Muggles, but... so many Dark Wizards have caused wars over the differences between our worlds... maybe this will stop it.'

'Have you looked out the window lately, Potter? Every day there are fights. The Muggles want answers, and the ruins of the Ministry can't give them. Our world, our people, they need a leader. The Muggles need an example. You should have stayed.'

''Should', Malfoy. Didn't. Couldn't.' Harry stopped, facing the wall, then shook his head and resumed pacing.

'Coward.'

'Common sense. I caused the shambles. They would only blame me, hate me.' Harry sighed, throwing himself back down into the chair and meeting Draco's stare. 'Ron and Hermione... they must hate me.'

'They miss you, Potter. Both happen to be very close friends of mine, so I should know.'

'_You_ are friends with them?' Harry stifled a bitter laugh. 'Be serious, Malfoy.'

'I am. A decade, Potter, is how long you've been away. Ten years in hiding from the outside world to deal with your issues. _Ten years_ trying to find the same person doesn't leave much left to hate each other for.'

'Oh.' Harry blinked, sitting forward. 'It's been ten years?'

'Yes, Potter.' Draco sat forward too, mocking Harry's naive confusion. 'Ten years of damage to the world. Ten years of you hiding away here. Ten years of trying to find you. One thing you've got going for you; if you don't want to be found, it's nigh on impossible.'

'You found me.'

'Yes.' Draco shrugged when Harry gave him a questioning glance. 'I did.'

'Are you going to tell me how?' asked Harry after a few moments when Draco didn't seem to be sharing any information. Draco shook his head firmly.

'Fat chance, Potter. You'd disappear again and I'd be nearly fifty before catching up with you again. I'm not leaving today without you.'

'Why?' asked Harry quietly. 'I just destroy. Look at the prophecy, look at what it caused. Look at what _I_ caused.'

'Why don't _you_ look?' demanded Draco, his patience with Harry's self-pity wearing thin. 'Open those damn windows and look at the world you've condemned to death through your own stupidity!' He stood, raised his wand, and shouted, '_Alohamora!_' at the French doors, which sprang back, the glass cracking as they hit the wall outside. 'Go on, if you're not a coward, go and look!'

'What? No! I don't have to prove myself to you, Malfoy, and- get off me!' Harry yelled as Draco took a firm hold of Harry's shoulders, lifted him from the chair, and started pushing him to the balcony.

'What are you afraid of, Potter? Afraid I'm right?' he sneered, throwing Harry to the floor of the balcony. Harry rolled over, squinting in the bright light of day, and covered his head with his hands, shaking.

'I don't want anyone else to die because of me!' he shouted, his words startling several birds from their nest two floors above. Draco took a deep breath, leaning against the wall.

'If you don't want them to die, Potter, _get out there and save their lives!_'

Harry slowly rolled over, his eyes dull, staring up at the white clouds.

'How can I go back after ten years?' he whispered. Draco gave an exasperated groan and walked over to stand by Harry's head.

'Potter, the people are practically _begging_ for you to come back. Every day, the _Prophet_ holds pleas and cries from all across Britain and several foreign countries, wanting you back. _Witch Weekly_ has a 'Harry Hunt' on, where desperate witches send in potential sightings of you. The people _need_ you, Potter, and if you can't see that, then...' He hesitated. 'Then, you're not the person they think you are,' he finished, 'and they live a lie.'

'I'm not telling them how to live or what to believe.' Harry got up, dusted himself off, and started heading back inside; but Draco tugged swiftly on his arm, pulling him back to face the world outside.

'That's the problem, Potter. They need you to.' Draco walked to the edge of the balcony and leant on the rail. Had he actually paid attention to the outside world, Harry would have spent many hours here, watching the people go by.

'The view is incredible,' he commented. Harry was walking inside the flat.

'I've never seen it,' muttered Harry. 'Never wanted to.'

'Makes you feel like you could fly,' continued Draco, ignoring Harry. 'Potter, pack your bags.'

'What?'

'I'm not leaving here without you.' Draco turned to face Harry. 'It's time to face up to the world, Potter. Grab anything of value. Leave the rest; Ron can send a team to secure it later.'

'I'm not going.'

'Oh yes you are, Potter. Like it or not, the world needs you. If positions were reversed, you'd come after me and make me go back. I'm being a damn Gryffindor, Potter, to try and get your sorry being back into the world.' Draco folded his arms, a scowl on his elegant face. Harry shook his head.

'I'm sorry, Malfoy, but... I'm not going back. I'm sorry you've had a wasted journey. Please, leave.' He started shutting the doors, but froze as Draco stepped forward.

'What do I tell Ron and Hermione?'

'Tell them...' Harry let go of the handle, and Draco re-entered the room. 'Tell them I'm sorry.'

'So should I tell Hermione where to send that wedding invitation she's been waiting five years to send out?' Draco delivered the news swiftly, and Harry staggered back slightly, sitting on the table to adjust to the revelation.

'She's getting married?' Draco watched as Harry turned to stare at the smiling faces on the wall. 'Oh... Who to?'

'Ron. Surprised?'

'Not really.' Harry chuckled, the first positive sound he'd made in ten years. 'They were crazy about each other all through Hogwarts. Never wanted to admit it.'

'They wanted you to come back, so you could be best man. Ron proposed, and Hermione accepted, but they won't set a date for the wedding until they know you'll come.'

'Tell them to get married,' said Harry firmly, but hesitantly, a wistful stare fixed on a photo of himself, Ron and Hermione, taken by Hagrid in their last year at Hogwarts.

'I have, and I don't know how many more times I can tell them without being hexed into St. Mungo's. They want you there.'

'I can't be there.' Harry sighed. 'How are they?'

'Well, Hermione scoffed at the Healers and within six months was acting as if she'd never lost use of her legs. Ron's doing wonders at the Ministry. They've already got one kid, called Arthur Harry. A Weasley, of course, trademark red hair.'

'Harry?'

'Arthur Harry, yes. He tends to go by Harry. Only three, and already he has taste in names.' Draco smiled slightly, stepping closer to Harry. 'They want you at their wedding, Potter. If you never go back, they'll never marry.'

'That's stupid.' Harry moved back to his armchair, throwing himself down with a sigh and putting his legs up on the coffee table.

'Do you miss them, Potter?' Draco mimicked Harry's motions, seating himself on the sofa, his feet alongside Harry's, and watched with interest as emotions played across Harry's face; longing, followed quickly by sadness, remorse, and guilt.

'Yes, every day... I thought they'd hate me for what I'd done.'

'Yes, of course they'd hate you for destroying Voldemort, saving the world, breaking the barriers between magic and Muggle. Anyone who didn't hate you must _clearly_ be insane and be put into Azkaban immediately.' Sarcasm and a hint of venom, calculated Draco carefully as he spoke, and on cue, Harry shot him a glare.

'That was uncalled for, Malfoy.'

'No, Potter, that was not. If I'd defeated a Dark Wizard, destroyed the protection of a world, and gone into hiding for ten years, now _that_ would be uncalled for.'

'It was not.' Harry sighed. 'I want to go back, Malfoy, every day... but I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand how I feel.'

'Try me, Potter.'

'There's no point.' Harry closed his eyes. 'You're a Slytherin.'

'Was, Potter, and acting more like a bloody Gryffindor every day thanks to Ron and Hermione. Try me.' When Harry didn't move, or even blink, Draco exhaled loudly and sat forward.

'You feel guilty; for causing death and injury, and for forcing Muggles and wizards to co-operate,' he said, ticking them off on his fingers. 'You feel as if you betrayed your friends and your figurative family. You feel angry at yourself that people died. You feel that people should hate you. You spend all your days wallowing in self-disgust and self-pity and long for freedom, but keep yourself cooped up in order to make yourself feel better about saving the bloody world. Have I made my point, or should I continue?'

'Malfoy, if you were in my position, what would _you_ have done? Gone to face the people you'd hurt and betrayed? Gone to apologise for causing the death of someone's loved one, be it their spouse, child, friend, parent? Stood in front of the world and looked them in the eye?'

'Yes.'

Draco left a few moments of silence as Harry's eyes refused to open, even to acknowledge the tears that had started making their way from his eyes, then stood up slowly. He walked over to Harry, and leant forward so that their faces were level. 'I'm a Slytherin, Potter, a cunning, treacherous snake, and I would have had the guts to face everyone. You're a courageous Gryffindor. Think about that, when you think about the friends you've left behind. The only betraying you did was after the war, when you left us all to fend for ourselves. We needed you, Harry Potter. We still do.' He straightened and made his way towards the door. 'I'll pass your sentiments on to Ron and Hermione; I'll inform them they'll never get married as long as they wait for you. I'll tell the world that you're too afraid to come back. See you in the afterlife, Potter. It'll be a long and lonely wait until then.' He opened the door quickly, slamming it shut behind him, and leant against the wall, counting under his breath.

Exactly seven-hundred-and-fifty seconds later, the door opened and Harry stepped out, carrying a small bag, his Firebolt, and his Invisibility Cloak.

'You win,' he said simply. Without a word, the two men walked in companionable silence down the stairs, and into the outside world.

* * *

**A/N:** Please leave a review :) 


End file.
